


One Week

by demonfox38



Series: DLC from DF38 [19]
Category: Vampire Killer | Castlevania: Bloodlines, 悪魔城ドラキュラ | Castlevania Series, 悪魔城ドラキュラ 暁月の円舞曲 と 蒼月の十字架 | Castlevania: Aria of Sorrow & Dawn of Sorrow, 悪魔城ドラキュラX 月下の夜想曲 | Castlevania: Symphony of the Night, 悪魔城伝説 | Castlevania lll: Dracula's Curse
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Family History, First Meetings, Gen, Multi, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-26
Updated: 2016-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:14:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23343784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/demonfox38/pseuds/demonfox38
Summary: When you only have a week to answer a few questions about "Castlevania", how are you going to fill in the blanks? (A collection of CVWeek 2016 responses.)
Series: DLC from DF38 [19]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1677937
Comments: 5
Kudos: 12





	1. Beginnings

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally published on my Tumblr Account from September 26, 2016 to October 2nd, 2016. All responses were posted to a CVWeek challenge prompt. One entry was a drawing and is not included here.

It was difficult to say where the trouble with Dracula began. His war lasted so long that even he became little more than a figurehead, his reincarnations shorter and shorter lived. His enemies lived and died fast, burning in and out like fireflies at summer's end. Even those he loved—those that lived as long as he—knew only their fraction of the tale. The dark lord's fall from grace seemed sudden, sharp, only known by a gray streak of confusion punctuated by an unthinkable betrayal.

One possible origin for all of his problems was one fateful day in class.

Mathias, as Dracula had once been known, had a rare life. His intelligence was swiftly caught, fanned by the finest tutors in the land. Of course, it didn't hurt that his father had deep pockets. Talent went a little way; money, even further. It was how he ended up in a plush study lost to time, staring at a map of a city long since fallen, taking lessons from a man with no name.

His tutor gave him an impossible task, that fateful day. "Attack Constantinople." 

Young Mathias was blown away by the enormity of that exercise. In his time, the city was a crown jewel of Europe. All of the wealth from the east flowed through its ports. There was no luxury that could not be had in Constantinople. It was also the springboard into wild lands, the ports which the mightiest crusaders departed. To strike Constantinople would be like smashing the gates of heaven.

That was reason enough for him to shirk from his assignment. "Shouldn't you be teaching me to defend Constantinople?"

His teacher smiled, his chair creaking as he leaned back. "Think like an invader. Find the cracks in her walls, and you may one day fix them."

Walls. The first and foremost obstacle of Constantinople. They boarded the massive city in stone rings. Where they couldn't stand, water weaved. Attacking by foot was suicidal. Any army would be splattered against those defenses before they could set a single foot inside the city.

There was one path they could not block with rock and stone.

Mathias placed his finger upon his tutor's map. He swung it back and forth, circling the city. "Naval artillery would be the fastest way to destroy its defenses." 

"A fair choice," his teacher nodded. "How do you plan on getting a fleet into position?"

It wasn't easy, but it wasn't impossible. Constantinople waded in the Sea of Marmara, flanked at its north by the Black Sea. Channels ran north and south-east of the city. All it took was one clear route. Perhaps he couldn't control the seas and their currents, but Mathias could control other men.

"I would send two fleets out." He pointed towards the south-eastern channel first. "The smaller would come through here. It will take longer to reach Constantinople, so it will be spotted first. After it has distracted the city's fleet, the second fleet will come in from the north and strike quickly."

"A pincer! Classic." His teacher nodded, scratching his beard. "However, it does come with the risk of having communications intercepted. It's also a very costly attack, having to maintain two separate legions."

Mathias smirked. "You never said anything about money."

The old tutor laughed. "Fair enough, my boy." He clapped his hands, pushing his student further. "So, you attack the harbor. Then, what?"

"Assuming victory, we will have cut off any escaping forces." Mathias swirled two fingers up and down the landmasses west and east of Constantinople. "The larger fleet will go to the west, and the smaller to the east."

"A peculiar arrangement," his teacher grumbled.

Mathias shook his head. "Not if you think about where the rich and powerful will be headed." He trailed his fingernail through the heart of Europe. "The Holy Roman Empire would be more than happy to retaliate. So, by preventing as many people from reaching it as possible, we ensure a longer time to establish ourselves in the city and fortify her."

A strong clap thundered through the young boy's shoulder. "Brilliant, Mathias! Forward thinking, as always!"

"And how long do you suppose you will be able to keep the city?"

Both men fell quiet. A peculiar frown soured the tutor's face. Mathias didn't see anything that should have brought out such a cantankerous reaction from his teacher. It was just a young girl with a fresh tray of tea and biscuits. Not a maid, by her clothing. Probably not someone that should have been doing a servant girl's work. Still, something about the task suited her. She was so peaceful, her smile lighter than sun rays.

His teacher's stormy mood dampened his thoughts. "That's not part of his lesson, Elisabetha."

She paid him no mind. Blue eyes could scarcely make contact with Mathias' gaze, lashes fluttering impatiently around them. "Well, think about it. Say you win Constantinople through war. How many men will you lose? How soon will your enemies strike back and take more from you?"

Mathias shrugged his shoulders. "If you kill any dissidents—"

"You can't stamp out a rebellion with violence," Elisabetha argued. "All you will do is throw oil on a fire."

The young pupil didn't know what to make of such a strange girl. He wanted to call her silly, call her out on how unreasonable she was being. Wars needed to be fought. Men needed to die. Unfortunately, sometimes, even his own. All he found inside himself was silence. It was frustrating, ravenous, growling.

He took a biscuit and chewed on it, hoping he could find an argument after he was done eating.

Damned if they weren't tasty little treats.

"Well, my daughter," the tutor huffed as he snatched a cup of tea from the tray. "Since you've stupefied my pupil, you'll have to fill in for him. Tell me. How do you think you would take over Constantinople?"

Elisabetha looked at the map spread out on the table for about two seconds. It didn't take her long to find her destination. She placed one soft finger on the far west side of the city. "Here."

Her father choked on his tea. "On land?" He shook his head, laughing and coughing as he put his cup aside. "You'll never make it past the walls."

"Not with a sword," she agreed. "But, with bread."

The old tutor chuckled again. "Oh, sweetheart—"

"Listen!" Elisabetha held her ground. "This is the furthest area from the harbors. Poor people live out here. They need food, clean water, clothing, shelter. Jobs and education, too! Give them all of those, and they will follow you!"

Mathias stopped mid-bite. "An army of street rats."

Elisabetha nodded. "Once you attend to their plight, you put pressure on other citizens within the city. They start to feel insecure about their positions and how they got them. You put to light the poor man's injustices, and you use that force to turn them against their lawmakers."

"And then seize the city while it's fighting itself," the teacher hummed. "Excellent."

All he did was make his daughter sigh. "No! You get the lawmakers to change their laws. Appeal to them using proper logic and your work as evidence of a better way. Then, through proper democratic elections, you may lawfully take the city."

"A legal seizure of the city…" Mathias murmured.

"Exactly." Elisabetha spun to face him, her dress and tresses falling gently against his side. "Naturally, there will still be some opposition to your control. However, this method avoids the greatest amount of damage to the city and has the least casualties possible."

It was madness. Tedium spread over an uncountable number of years. Impressive, in its passive-aggression. Much more of a Christian tactic than anything used in the Crusades. If the pope ever did want to fight a truly Christian war, he needed to look no further than Elisabetha's tactics. They were weird, yes, but very pure.

Mathis couldn't help but let a small smirk slip. "That's quite something."

"Yes. Well! You are here to learn military strategy, not social justice!" His tutor shooed away the pretty little distraction that had floated into their room. "Go back to your mother, you silly little girl. Learn how to tend to a house, not a government."

Fleeting frustration cracked Elisabetha's porcelain face. Her curtsey was short, sharp. With one smooth pull, she lifted the tea tray away, resting it on her hip. Mathias shrunk into his seat as she scooted away. He could feel another battle brewing—one for which he would not see the end result.

His tutor grumbled at the mess left behind. "Sloppy girl. Left crumbs and my cup behind."

Mathias sat forward, his voice meek. "I believe that was her intention, not her neglect."

"What?" the old teacher asked.

"Knowing how meticulous you are, she left your teacup and a small mess behind to annoy you," Mathias pointed out. "You'd have no choice but to clean it up, doing her work for her."

"Hmmph!" his tutor scoffed. "Some strategist."

And yet, for everything he taught to Mathias, all his young pupil would remember was his daughter's fairness.


	2. Heroes & Villains

They waited the whole night in front of that cold, damp cave.

It wasn't like they didn't have places to be. Dracula wasn't going to kick his own ass. It was just impossible to proceed. Trevor had been the man with the plan. He knew every monster, could crawl blind through forests and swamps, knew just what to strike and touch and eat. Food poisoning alone would kill them before they could leave this marsh. Perhaps even starvation. Without him, they were nothing more than infants armed with sticks—doomed to be captured and subjugated once again.

"So," Grant muttered. "Think he's dead?"

All he got out of Sypha was a whack across the skull.

Of course, she'd considered it. No normal man could survive a cave collapse and a drop into hell. This was Trevor they were talking about, though. A dragon could breathe fire in his face, and all he'd do was complain about it getting ash on his coat. He would be coming out. She would wait for him until he did.

Not that she wasn't used to waiting. Being turned into a stone statue had made her very, very patient.

Her patience was rewarded.

She first saw a silver arc lash out of the darkness. It snapped around a rock, then held fast. With one whump, a limp bundle crashed onto the cavern's lip. Trevor's boots landed next. He arched his back, rubbing his palms into it. Both his groan and his spine's crack startled the ravens hovering in the trees around them. Black feathers scattered as they bolted. He paid no mind to them, nor the heaviness of the load he scooped up. All that mattered was the two shadows waiting for him in the early morning mist.

Trevor gave them a smile and a wink. "Yo."

"Yo?" Sypha echoed. "You've been lost all night, and all you've got to say is 'Yo'?"

Trevor shrugged. "Been kind of busy."

His evidence was cradled in his arms.

Neither companion knew what to make of what—rather, who—he was carrying. It was very long, lean, wrapped in a rich, red cloak that fell like a cascade of blood. Not very masculine, but not a woman. Someone like Sypha, straddling the lines between the two dichotomies. Grant snickered in amusement. He took one strand of hair from the fallen person's face, tossing it back. Most of it was black, save for a few spidering streaks of white. Very, very long. Very, very pretty. 

"What a doll face!" Grant cackled.

Sypha leaned closer to Trevor and his mysterious burden. More scarlet widened her eyes. "He's injured."

"Yeah. Well?" Trevor sighed. "That's his own damn fault."

"What did he do?" Sypha crossed her arms, her attitude as cold as her posture. "Don't tell me there was more than one man dumb enough to be messing around in a cave after midnight."

Trevor was just as agitated. "Well, if he hadn't started throwing fireballs at my face, he wouldn't have ended up on the wrong side of my whip." He shifted the cape folding around his arms, then hefted his enemy away. "Could you people get a fire started? I need to camp for a bit."

Grant and Sypha shot each other a look. That was a weird request. It made more sense to move than to stay put. Weirder than that was Trevor hauling his foe along. What was his plan? An interrogation? Imprisonment? He hadn't gone so far as to even tie his enemy up. Keeping him alive was dangerous. In close company, even madder.

Still, Trevor had his reasons. They were always good, if bizarre.

Starting a campfire was never a problem with Sypha around. All they needed was a lump of sticks and one good blast from her staff. As soon as they had their makeshift ground set up, Trevor plopped his rival to his side. He flopped alongside him, brushing his coattails out as he took a seat.

"Got anything to eat?" Trevor asked.

Grant yanked a hunk of meat out of his satchel. "A little of the ol' Transylvanian pot roast."

Trevor waved for it. "Pass it over."

The Belmont had it stripped to the bone in a minute. Both Grant and Sypha watched with horror as he packed it away. When Trevor meant business, he would tear through anything. Even food. What was even worse was what he did next. He yanked his fallen foe over, then produced a knife. One silver flash, and he'd cut through his left hand.

"Trevor!" Sypha shouted.

"Cool it." He cupped his hand, squeezing red life onto his enemy's pale lips. "C'mon, buddy."

Buddy? Had Trevor lost his mind?

It took a second too long for his friends to realize just what in the hell Trevor was doing. Stiff reflexes parted the soft lips painted red with blood. There was a tentative lick, hunger and curiosity rising from a stilled mind. Then, horror. Eyes as brilliant as starlight flicked open. Two screams cut through the camp as Trevor's foe jerked up. He patted at his mouth, disgusted with what the vampire hunter had done.

A deep boom sent shockwaves through their chests. "Are you a complete and total idiot?"

Trevor smirked. "Impressive instinct control."

"Is that a vampire?" Grant looked like he was about to crap his trousers. "Did you drag a goddamn vampire out of that goddamn cave?"

Sypha was just as repulsed. "Trevor! What are you thinking?"

The Belmont had very little time to defend himself. "I was just—hey!"

Smoke erupted at his side. Fluttering wings followed. Trevor growled, but did not move. All it took was a single clamp of his injured hand to yank his enemy out of his transformation. The dark creature chittered, biting into Trevor's fingers. His teeth couldn't even put a dent into the hunter's callouses.

Trevor gave him a gentle squeeze. "Stop. Listen to me."

Black eyes stared with an intense focus into the Belmont's blue, steely gaze. They burst back into the fire-bright flash of yellow. Trevor let go of the creature as he fell into his lap, untransformed. It was hardly a dignified place for someone so richly dressed to land. He tried to sit up. A slam of biceps around him kept him pinned in his rival's lap.

Long, lean fingers placed themselves on the ground. "Very well, Belmont. Speak."

"I've got two questions for you," Trevor said. "And I want some good answers, got it?"

His foe scoffed. "I will not count that question as part of your questions."

Grant snorted. So, the weird vampire bat thing was a smartass. He could appreciate that. He still didn't want to touch the creature with a ten-foot pole, but it was progress.

"Okay. Question one." Trevor tapped his enemy on his chin. "Who's your sire?"

The rich creature responded flatly. "Who do you think?"

The answer was obvious, although a little surprising. Dracula wasn't one to take on fledgling vampires. Well, not unless they were blonde and big busted. This creature was much too flat and skinny to be a plaything for the count. He wasn't just a risen meal, either. He had Dracula's powers, his cold influence, the colors of the castle itself stained into him. He was someone special to Dracula, no doubt. Not someone that should be found wandering about a cold, damp cave so far from the vampire's influence.

"Wait, wait, wait." Grant's tongue went faster than his brain. "Sire. Like, who made him a vampire?"

Trevor shook his head. "He's not a vampire, Grant."

Now Sypha was startled. "What do you mean, he's not a vampire? I just saw you—"

"He's not a vampire," Trevor repeated. He sat the creature up, then stuck his thumbs between flashing teeth. His prey gagged at the sudden invasion. Trevor continued on, as enthusiastic as a teacher showing something new to his pupils. "You see these teeth here? The canines? They react to blood being applied to them." He flicked a few droplets across agitated gums. Sure enough, stubborn teeth sank down, eager for a fresh meal. "Now, he's only got an extension about the length of my thumbnail. A vampire's teeth will go out about as long as my thumb."

Grant leaned closer to the foe's mouth. "So, what? He's stumpy or dainty or something?"

"I mm nah daindy!" Trevor's enemy growled.

"Whoops! Sorry there, bud." The Belmont yanked his fingers from the creature's mouth. "He's half-vampire, half-human. A dhampir. Gets a little bit of a vampire's power, but none of the major setbacks."

"Half-vampire?" A frosty chill blanched Sypha. "You mean—"

Trevor nodded. "Dracula didn't just sire him. He sired him. Get what I mean?" He patted the dhampir's side. "We've got the prince of Castle Dracula with us."

Grant and Sypha jolted back. Now, Trevor's actions were starting to make more sense. At that same time, nothing he did could be more foolish and reckless. What did he expect to do with Dracula's son? Take him for ransom? Extort Dracula? Use him as a shield as they barged their way into the castle? Letting someone like him live was insane. It was better to kill him now before he could murder them.

The vampire hunter carried on like it was no big deal. "Now. Question number two—"

"D-D-Dracula's son," Grant stammered.

Trevor sighed. "Yes. We covered that."

"A half-vampire," the thief continued gawking.

"Yeah," Trevor nodded.

"You just stuck your fingers into the mouth of the second most terrifying monster of all of Wallachia, and you're just cool with that?" Grant shrieked.

The dhampir drew himself back. "Second?"

Trevor threw a hand up in disgust, nodding in agreement with the dhampir. "I know, right? Totally insulting." He leaned back, at ease with the monster in his lap. "Man, before you woke up, he called you a doll face. Funny how your tiny, tiny baby teeth could possibly—"

"I think you're insulting me more than he is," the dhampir grumbled.

Sypha dropped her head in her hands. "Could you just get your questions over with?"

"Right. Fair enough." Trevor swerved himself back on track. "Question number two—why did you try to kick my ass?"

The dhampir's eyes said more than his mouth. He glanced down at the length tacked to Trevor's side. The vampire hunter nodded. So, this creature knew of the Vampire Killer. Or, at least, could sense the holy power on it. Even the slightest touch of its tip to the dhampir's flesh ripped blighted wounds into supernatural skin. It would take him quite a while to recover from such an encounter.

Trevor patted his hip. "This old thing was reason enough to attack me?"

"Not to attack," his foe clarified. "To test."

Intrigue arched Trevor's eyebrows. A test? If that battle was the dhampir's idea of a test, then he would make for one of the most wretched teachers in all of Romania. He struck like a meteor. Every lash from him was fiery, fueled more by fury than mere strength. That damn dhampir could have killed Trevor that very night. It was just lucky he was playing—that a cat would let a rat bite his nose.

Trevor snorted. "A warning would have been nice."

"I did not want you to hold back," the dhampir replied. "My father will not. So, I did not."

"Well, that settles that!" Grant clapped his hands together. "Looks like we've basically got Dracula in the bag!"

Sypha shook her head. "Don't be cocky." She glared at her staff, her face fixed still by frustration. "We have fought him before, Grant. We both lost. The only reason we stand a chance now is because of Trevor."

The dhampir nodded. "Specifically, his weapon."

"So, my mother told me the truth." Trevor unwound the Vampire Killer from his hip. "Even Dracula fears this whip."

Glowing eyes dimmed. In exhaustion, the dhampir bowed his head. "There are legends about your clan, Belmont. About this whip." He held a timid hand over its handle. "My father said that your ancestor paid a grave price to give this weapon the power to slay creatures of the night. That your family's sacrifice is the reason you fight so hard—why you hate him so."

Sobriety cooled Trevor's temper. So, Dracula did remember the Belmont family. Three hundred years had passed, and the old vampire hadn't forgotten them. He didn't know whether to be honored or saddened. His family only had scraps from that time. A few leather-bound pages with ink nearly faded away, a grave north of this place, his bloodline dead or scattered to the winds. Trevor could have been one of the last, if not the last Belmont. Their family's miserable story could very well end at the length of this whip.

A dark voice drew him from darker thoughts. "Is that all, Belmont?"

"Yes. Maybe. Well, no." Trevor shook his head, his sigh raspy. "I still don't get it."

The dhampir's eyebrows pinched down. "Get what?"

"Why are you trying to help us?" Trevor pulled his arms back, finally letting the prisoner in his lap go. "I mean, you're Dracula's kid. Why do you want me to kick his ass?"

The creature turned his head away. His gaze went further than the fog's veil. "You assume fealty where there is none."

Sypha couldn't believe what she was hearing. "You're not on his side?"

"I wish that I could be." The dhampir's confession came with a low growl, his head and hair falling in shame. "But, I can no longer abide his actions. He is little more than a beast devouring anything in his path. His lust for vengeance can never be satiated."

"Vengeance?" Grant's voice cracked. "For what?"

Their strange guest couldn't speak. He opened his lips, but closed them again, shaking his head as he pursed them. Agony hooked the corners of his eyes, pinning his eyelids shut. His chest swelled and sank, unbalanced breathing amplified by tight fabric. Even his pale, diamond smooth temples could not hide the very human pulse now racing with frustration and pain. Trevor frowned. Their companion had said everything and nothing with his heart alone.

Trevor released him from his snarled thoughts. "Another time, then. You've answered more than enough."

"Another time?" the dhampir repeated.

A sharp smile asked the most dangerous question of the night. "Well, you're coming with us, right?"

His foe blinked. It was like his mind had gone as clear and pale as his skin. "I…hadn't considered it."

"Neither had we," Sypha grumbled.

She was surprised to find two sets of eyes pleading with her. Trevor's, she had expected. He was very much the rogue recruiter, willing to scrape anyone he met off the road and into his shadow. Grant was a little more surprising. A fourth person meant a smaller fraction of loot, another mouth to feed, another bedroll to purchase. Was it worth risking their expedition on a monster with a sob story? Especially one that would have every last member of Dracula's domain gunning to get back!

Sypha sighed. "Seriously?"

"Well, he probably knows all of Dracula's weak points. He probably could sneak us into the castle really easily." Grant elbowed the dhampir's back. "Plus, you know where all the good loot is, right?"

The dhampir groaned. "I seek to stop a madman, not to help thieves ransack my former home."

Former. That was an encouraging word. Sypha leaned on her side. "You do seem to be pretty powerful. And if Trevor trusts you, I suppose…" She gave one pathetic look around their campfire. "Well. We are not much of an army."

"Sending an army against Dracula is a fool's errand." The creature locked eyes with Sypha. His sincerity made her shiver. "I know that all too well."

"Well then, smart guy!" Trevor clapped his right hand on the dhampir's shoulder. "What do you say?"

His challenger dropped his head. "I do not think you know what you are asking for, Belmont."

Trevor was not a man to take no for an answer. He whacked his the dhampir on his back. "Ah, come on!"

"I'm not rejecting you," his new friend clarified. "I'm just…at a loss for words, at the moment."

"Guess I was pretty rough on your noodle." Trevor ruffled the dhampir's hair. He helped him up with a gentle tug on his mantle. "Whaddya guys say? Should we march to the next town and get you all a bite to eat?"

Grant snorted. "As long as it's not him biting on me, I'm down for it."

The dhampir was equally unenthusiastic. "The thought of drinking your blood repulses me."

"See?" Trevor gave their new friend a squeeze around the shoulders. "He's a good guy."

"Or he doesn't want to bite the guy that hasn't bathed in two weeks," Sypha snarked.

There was a little bit of truth in both statements.


	3. Castle

It cut a jagged, crooked line out of the night sky. Every spire rose like a defiant claw, raking at heaven. Its majesty was undercut by its derelict condition. Stormy winds slapped through broken glass, shredding red curtains. Towers crumbled under their own weight. The castle was torn open, a great carcass festering on the top of the mountain, its ribs only showing a fleeting glimpse of its once impressive strength.

"That's it?" A gruff voice scoffed.

A softer one confirmed that fact for his companion. "That is it."

In typical American fashion, the first adventurer expressed his doubt with a hearty curse. "Bullshit!"

"I assure you, John," the latter repeated. "This is Castle Dracula."

The American crossed his arms one more time, huffing in disbelief. It was hard to tell exactly what put him off. He was a practical man, a poor man, a man of the earth. He was raised in dust and deserts, not in the fairy tale woods where this castle dwelled. If it wasn't for his father's fate, he wouldn't have been here at all. Everyone said the same impossible fact. His father's journals, his mother, his companion.

Dracula was real, and he lived here.

"So, Señor Lecarde," John grumbled with a mocking accent. "What do we do now? Find his coffin and give it a poke with that stick of yours?"

"If we catch him asleep, then yes. Your whip will be for if we should catch him awake." Blonde hair whipped John in the shoulder as the Spaniard spun about. "And none of this Señor Lecarde nonsense, Mister Morris. Eric, solamente."

John nodded. "Si, si. Entiendo."

Neither man was on the best of terms, at the moment. They had learned one thing pretty damn fast. Spanish was not a safe language to curse each other out in. Even though Eric spoke with a Castilian dialect and John in Latin-American, there was more than enough interchange between the two variants for each other to pick up when the other was being derided. It was as foolish as a Britain and an American trying to trick each other. But, it made for a safe link. If nothing else, they had another way to speak when ears were prying into their business.

It was just another grain of salt in John's wounds. Not that he would admit to such a thing. He was a big man from a big state, used to hard work. But this World War business? Monsters being real? It was a hard pill to swallow. Eric's pretty boy ponciness didn't help. At least he could blend into this surreal world like a deer in a forest. John felt like nothing more than a bull, his antlers caught in narrow trunks, powerful and mighty and unable to do a damn thing.

He took his first tentative step into the unhallowed remains of Dracula's castle. It startled wavering darkness. Flocks of crows rushed past the two intruders. An impatient flick of his whip, and they scattered. One more step had him ankle-deep in gore. John hissed, then scraped his boot against the ground. Well, if the ominous glowering of the castle wasn't his first warning, then this disemboweled corpse the birds were feeding on certainly was.

"Poor soul," Eric lamented.

"At least he didn't feel that. I did." John stomped his way into the castle's front hall. "Worse than stepping in cow pies."

The Spaniard sighed, his breath quick and impatient. "Are you going to be so callous and flippant this entire trip, mi amigo?"

"We're up to friend status now?" John asked. "I'll be damned!"

Eric rolled his eyes. "Amigo, if you do not watch yourself—"

John knocked the rest of his sentence out of him.

Eric crashed to the ground. Gnashing teeth chomped down into the space where he had once stood. Rotting gore dribbled onto his breastplate from raised fingers, death reducing them to little more than claws. It splashed everywhere as John cut the hungry creature down. More lined up behind their fallen comrade. Their eyes glowed yellow in the dark, illuminated by a wicked moon.

It took Eric a moment to realize he'd been saved. "John—"

"Get up and help me take care of business!" the American roared.

As cold as he was, John had a point. There was little room for sympathy when corpses were threatening to make mincemeat out of both of them. Eric leapt onto his feet. The next line of foes was his. With one lunge, his spear pierced them through. They melted away from his hot steel like butter off a spit.

John smirked. "That's more like it."

"Save your breath," Eric chided. "We have a lot of rooms to cover."

He wasn't kidding. Dracula's Castle spread onward, upward, dipping into dark waters before twisting onward. Nothing looked like a livable space. No kitchens, no bedrooms. Not even a stinking bathroom. How in the hell was anyone supposed to live in a place where spikes shot out of the ground and swinging blades dropped from the ceiling?

But, they went on. Through bats, through whatever the hell fishman that was in the basement, through that goddamn hell hound in the hallway. Under every trap, over every gap. Where John grabbed on, teeth clenched, tearing through carpet and drapes, Eric launched lightly. It was enough to make the American smile. Sure, he was strong. But to look like a goddamn ballerina while leaping straight across the room? It was enviable, how effortless Eric made fighting look. 

"You know something?" John asked. "You're not half bad at this!"

Eric flashed a smile. "Y tú también."

"Whoa, now!" John snickered. "Let's not start dispensing the informalities yet, buckaroo."

Confusion tipped Eric's head. "Buckaroo?"

John shook his. "You know. Like a rancher? Cowboy? Buckaroo."

"Ah," Eric nodded. "Vaquero."

Now John was caught off guard. "You want what, now?"

"Not quiero!" Eric groaned. "Vaquer—oh!"

His stomach dropped as his foot went straight through the floor. Another glance down, and Eric was as sick as a dog. Only John's strong grip kept him from tumbling to his death. This was no mere floor they stood on. It was bone, vertebrae latched together into a singular column, shuddering and trembling with the weight now upon it.

Eric swallowed his nerves. "I think we had better run."

John smirked. "Vamos!"

The American dragged the Spainard as the massive skeleton beneath them cracked to pieces. It was only at the monstrous base of the dead creature's skull that Eric was able to get his feet under him. Both crawled to tenuous safety. That was smashed by another metal pike. The two men growled in unison. How in the hell was there a monster past that death trap?

John snapped his whip tight. "I bag him, you tag him?"

"Do as you will," Eric sighed.

That was all John needed. With one crack of the Vampire Killer, he had the metal contraption hounding them teetering on its shaking legs. Another snagged it around its arm. A roar was Eric's only cue from John. As the American yanked the robotic monstrosity backward, Eric stabbed forward. His spear held fast. Gleaming metal pierced through the creature's helmet, lancing from end to end.

Clanking metal fell still, lifeless.

With a snap, John was back to his old, cocky self. "You know what? I think we've got this down."

"Indeed," Eric agreed. "And not a moment too soon. Look."

The American swiveled around. Finally, the castle made some sense to him. Through fallen timber and ripped rugs, he found the jutting remains of a black coffin. It was grander than any he had ever seen. Definitely something he couldn't afford. He rubbed a finger over its golden trim, whistling at its smoothness. This was definitely the coffin of some big ol' fancy pants.

"So, how do you want to do this?" John asked. "You want to throw the coffin back, and I beat his ass in? Or should I—"

Eric answered that with a single slam of his spear through the top of the coffin.

John jolted back. Of all the things he'd seen Eric do, he did not expect the Spaniard to strike so brutally. He whistled again. If that prissy man could punch through some kind of robot knight's helmet, what was a coffin's lid? The man was a vampire hunter for a reason. He could get right to the point.

"Well, then." John crossed his arms. "We done?"

Eric shook his head. "Something doesn't feel right."

He pulled against his spear once more. It ground against the lid of the coffin as he drew it back. John sighed, then joined his friend in helping him dislodge his weapon. He grunted as he pulled. Eric sure had done a damn good job of sticking it in there. Nothing could live through a stabbing like that!

The lance pulled out perfectly clean.

Eric hissed. "It can't be…"

"What in the hell's going on?" John reached for the coffin's lid. "You hit it dead center. How could you've—"

A single push back revealed an obvious answer to John's question.

There was nothing in the coffin. No Dracula. No body. Not so much as a scrap of fabric. Both John and Eric swore in their native tongues. How could this not be Dracula's coffin? It was in the hardest pillar to reach, surrounded by collapsing traps, guarded by the shiniest knight in the kingdom. Where in the hell had that old bat gone?

How the hell were they going to get down from here?

John threw his hands on his hips. "Well, now what?"

A cold breeze rushed over them. Eric glanced up, watching bats scurry away in the night gale. Something distant and spiritual overcame him. "We go where the winds run cold and dark, mi amigo."

All John had for that suggestion was another colorful string of cursing.


	4. Family

It wasn't an easy phone call for him to make.

Julius stared at his kitchen wall, receiver in hand, glaring at the numbers. What was he thinking? She was probably out. Would she even know his voice if she picked up? They hadn't talked to each other since she was a child. Hell, he had hardly been an adult, himself. The cracks that used to rupture his trachea were long gone. So was their home, their parents, their family.

He sighed, then dialed her number.

A bedraggled sigh answered him. "Moshi Moshi?"

"Hey, Koko," Julius rasped. "It's Julius."

If it wasn't for the roaring television in the background on her side, he would have thought she'd hung up. Her silence came from a snarled brain. Julius lowered his head, then leaned against the wall. Of course, she needed time to think. As far as she knew, he was back from the dead.

"Julius," his sister repeated.

"Yes," he nodded.

"Onii-san," she said once more.

Julius snorted. "Yes, Kokoro."

His sister was a true Belmont. Just as stubborn as he was. Rapid thoughts jarred her speech, each demanding their own response. "It's been—I thought you were—Where have you—" She finally settled on, "How did you get this number?"

He cleared his throat, then looked into the living room—at the creature debating whether or not to risk eating a slice of pepperoni pizza. "Alucard gave it to me."

"Ah. I didn't know he still had it." Her phone crunched as she shifted. "He finally found you?"

Julius tipped his head. "In a way."

Really, it had been Soma that found him. What he had stolen, he'd given back. In some ways, Julius wasn't sure he wanted his old life back. He wanted to be nineteen again, yes, to have another chance at doing it all over right. He was just some old bum, now. Who would want him as he was, now?

But, to hear little Koko all grown up…

"What happened to you?" his sister asked.

"Did what I had to. Killed Dracula. Knocked myself out when the castle ripped apart." Julius rubbed a tender spot on his forehead. It was so easy to recall how slick it had been, wet and hot with his own blood. "Woke up in Düsseldorf. Didn't have much to show for who I was, so I worked my way around Europe. Mostly menial jobs."

She didn't need to know about the years he spent sleeping and working in homeless shelters, scraping stuck-on food off of pots and pans and raiding consignment shops for clothes that weren't stained or stinking of urine. She especially didn't need to know about the monsters he'd found in back alleys, the endless stream of filth behind every corner, how tempting it was just to give up and sell drugs or himself. Thirty-six years of hard living had eaten into his heart. All he had to show for them was his camper van. Even that was nothing compared to the apartment he now stood in. The only times he'd spent in places as good as this was when they were abandoned or the landlords hadn't locked the place up.

"How about you?" he wondered.

What used to be a raucous laugh was now quiet, a little hoarse. "Grew up. Got out of the house. Became a fighter pilot."

"Wow!" Julius marveled.

Kokoro laughed again. "Just for a little bit. I got married and settled down after that. Someone had to carry on the Belmont family, right?"

A smile crept onto Julius' face. Maybe so. He hoped not, at least for Soma's sake. "Are you still working?"

"Just getting the kids through school, right now," she clarified. "But, when they're done? I'd like to move to an island. Maybe Hawaii. Take up a job as a pilot for tourist helicopters."

"Those things are dangerous, you know," Julius huffed.

Kokoro giggled once more. "Like fighting Dracula wasn't."

Julius smiled, his laughter barely audible. She was right. But, a Belmont never backed down from danger. Even free from her family's duty, Kokoro was still a pistol. That rambunctious four-year-old had never quite calmed down.

God, she had kids. She was a mother!

He was an uncle!

"Say. If I'm in Japan again, would you like to meet up?" Julius asked. "I'd like to meet your family. Maybe patch things up with Dad."

Cold stillness numbed him. "Dad's dead, Julius."

He rubbed his forehead. Of course, the old bastard was. A groan escaped his guard. Perhaps it was better never to see him again. All he would do was berate him for not doing more with his life. Not like he'd been all that close to the old man, anyway. Julius had been a dead man walking, in his father's eyes. Perhaps, even someone he envied. No one to get attached to.

"It's just us?" Julius asked.

Kokoro sighed. "Just my family and us, Julius."

He fidgeted. What about his stepmom? Her side of the family? Were they all gone, too? He knew there were still some distant cousins of his in Romania and Germany, but no one close enough to send Christmas cards to or anything like that. A hollow chill emptied his chest. He may as well have leapt a thousand years into the future, for how lonely and abandoned he felt.

"The…um…" Julius coughed again. "The offer still stands, Koko."

"Of course, Julius." Kokoro perked up. "Where are you, anyway?"

"Constan?a," he answered.

She hummed as she processed that name. "In Romania? But, why?"

"One of the Belnades kids is helping me get set up with a job with her employers. They've got some old religious texts that I can translate." He shoved his left hand into his jacket pocket. "Belmont records too, if you're interested in getting a copy of them."

"Absolutely!" Kokoro agreed. "But, I'd like your phone number and address more, right now."

Julius nodded. "Sure thing."

They exchanged every last piece of information they had. Addresses, cellphone numbers, land lines (how antiquated!), e-mail addresses. Her husband's name. Her kids' names. Their schools. His employers. Everything. Even then, it only took up a little sticky note to fill. How strange that the entirety of his remaining immediate family could fit on such a tiny piece of paper.

"I should get going," Kokoro finally said. "Breakfast isn't going to make itself."

Breakfast? Crap! How far apart were their time zones, anyway? "Right."

"Take care of yourself," Kokoro murmured. "Maybe don't take thirty-six years to call again."

"I won't," Julius promised.

He hung up the phone.

He then knocked his head into the wall.

Idiot! How could he go away for thirty-six years and not tell his sister he loved her? He reached over to dial her back, then slumped. It was stupid to call her back just for that. She had breakfast to make, kids to take care of. A whole new family.

He stuck her contact information to his fridge, then grabbed a beer out of it.

Two butts scooched out of the way as Julius plopped into the center of his couch. Where in the hell Alucard had managed to find a used leather couch this comfortable, he had no idea. He was just glad to have any of it. A fridge. A couch. A stove. A TV. His own bed. His own phone. So much, and on such short notice.

Long fingers tossed a plate of pizza onto his lap. "Eat up!"

The old Belmont sighed. "Thanks, Yoko."

He put his beer to the side as he dug in. Really, he had no business eating this late at night. He just wanted the carbs. The hot, soft cheese was nice, too. A soft click popped to his right as Alucard pulled back a bottle opener. How anyone could open a beer and look that demure, he had no idea. Yoko's method was more his style. Slam! Pop! Throw back.

She could beat the hell out of his coffee table all she wanted. She'd bought it, after all.

"So." Alucard grumbled as a stubborn ribbon of cheese bowed between his teeth and his slice of pizza. "How did your phone call go?"

"Fine. Koko sounds good. Going to meet up with her sometime." Julius whacked the dhampir in the shoulder. "Could have let me know my dad was dead, jackass."

Alucard grimaced, struggling to chew through the rubbery mess. "My apologies."

"Yeah, well. Just don't choke on that, now." Julius sat up. "Actually—are you supposed to be eating that?"

"Don't sweat it. It's garlic free." Yoko raised her slice as a toast. "I'm the one that shouldn't be eating pizza. Going to gain, like, a couple kilos and a dozen pimples."

Julius rolled his eyes. "You will not." He chomped down, then talked through his chewing. "You should be eating more, anyway. Need to make up for that blood loss."

"I didn't lose that much blood!" she scowled.

The trio settled into a quiet, grumbling mess as they tore through the pizza. Moving had been hard. Nobody just up and had a furnished apartment in a day. Yet, Yoko and Alucard really had hauled ass to help him out. Even taken off of work and gone out of country just to help him.

He stopped eating.

Alucard lowered his slice. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah. Thanks." Julius slumped, mumbling his gratitude into the long neck of his beer. "Good not to be alone."

He didn't know what would become of the Belmont family. Maybe everything had to splinter out and fade away. He still had someone to fall back on. People still cared about him, even after all this time. Hell, even if they just met. It didn't matter who he was to his father or his cousins. His sister, sure, but only because she reached back when he reached out.

He knew who his family was.


	5. Guilt

She rested her chin on her hands, fuming at the empty seat across from her at the kitchen table.

She knew she wasn't a good cook. Some days, even toast was too difficult for her to make. But, she really had tried this morning. Toast, eggs over easy, butter, jam, strawberries. She even made a fresh pot of tea with the blend they saved for special occasions. She thought that soft aroma would have been enough to draw him downstairs.

If her calling hadn't brought him down, what good would food do? 

Maria dropped her head. Alright. So, her birds could eat the toast and fruit. It wasn't hard to put a lid back on a jam jar. The tea was a waste. So were the eggs. They'd all gone cold.

She cleaned up the table, her head spinning. What had gotten into him? He knew better than to treat her like a maid. He worked just as hard as she did, doing a chore for a chore. That was fine. Fair. But, to just ignore her? To sleep right through her calls?

Hot feet stormed out of the kitchen, burning the stairs beneath their touch. Maria's fingers clenched a little too hard against the stairwell's railing. Of course, one of these days was bound to happen. Two people didn't live with each other without some struggle. She was just not ready for another fight with Alucard. He was always so cold, so calm. It made her feel like a wicked witch, shouting at him. But, he had to know when he'd done her wrong. Ignoring her—stiffing her with the morning work and snubbing her cooking—she couldn't let this stand.

She stood outside his bedroom door, her body shuddering as she tried to cap her anger. "Alucard? May I come in?"

There was no response.

She knocked on his door. "Alucard?"

Nothing.

Her temper finally snapped. "Alucard! Answer me!"

"I'm sorry."

Maria drew back. That didn't sound like him at all. Not that he didn't ever apologize to her. Alucard was just as grandiose with his apologies as he was doing anything else. It was the meekness in his voice that caught her off guard. She could hardly hear him through the thick wood. He seemed so far away, little more than a whisper on the wind.

"It's alright." Maria twisted the doorknob, then cracked the door open. "I just want you to—"

She fell silent.

His bedroom was as dark as night. Thick curtains over his window were pinned shut. Only a sliver of sunlight cut across the room. It revealed a slight shape curled away from Maria's gaze. All she could see of Alucard was his hair spilling over his sheets, tumbling down the edge of his bed. Thin fabric trembled with his breathing. It was shaking, uneasy.

Maria drew her foot back from the threshold to his room. Her mind froze. It wasn't like she hadn't seen men cry before. Richter was an absolute mess when he lost his grandfather. But, men were defensive. Angry. Fearful of being caught in a vulnerable state. An upset man was troubling enough. How was she supposed to handle a depressed dhampir?

Well. There was only one way to find out. "Should I leave?"

His response was cryptic. "If it pleases you."

That answer was meaningless to her. "Do you want me to come in?"

"If you must," he sighed.

Maria echoed his groan. Of course, he was putting this decision on her. Well, she knew which side of the door she wanted to be on. She scooted inside his bedroom, then closed the door behind her. The pitiful light jutting through the curtains beckoned for her. She turned instead towards the darkness, searching for soft gold. It was not her treasure to find. Alucard hid his eyes from her, pinching them shut beneath agitated eyelids.

It was hard not to stare at the damp trails running down his pillows and bedding.

Richter had warned her of days like this. There was a reason Alucard had fled his family's protection once. His heart was twice as heavy as a human's. It carried an immense burden. She couldn't imagine having a heart so strong and broken. Hers overflowed easily, gushing from her in hot streams. It took longer for Alucard's to spill. When it did, it broke like a gorged river, his own tears enough to drown him.

Maria turned her gaze away. It was best not to stare. "I'd like to stay with you a while, if you're alright with that."

A rising bedsheet invited her in.

She squirmed inside. Her knees hit Alucard's. Maria readjusted, careful of where she put her legs. She didn't want to whack him again. Neither did she want to touch his toes. They were always so damn cold. She waded through the silk mess, stopping just short of the closest puddle of tears. At least Alucard was courteous enough to leave one pillow dry.

Maria curled around the clean pillow. "Hello."

"Hello," Alucard echoed.

She didn't know where to begin with him. "It's…um. It's morning."

"I know." He made the smallest adjustment as he cradled his own pillow. "I am sorry for not rising."

It was hard to stay mad at him when he was clearly miserable. She didn't have the heart to chew him out. "Well, you know. You didn't miss much. Just chores and breakfast."

Alucard drew a breath, letting it seep out in one low sigh. "I will do them tomorrow, then."

Maria knew he would be good for that. He was always one to reciprocate. That wasn't what was bothering her. She stared at the corners of his closed eyes, wondering how long he had been crying. They were red, raw, overworked. A few stubborn tears clung to his eyelashes like dew. They left a cold streak on her thumb as she brushed them away.

She dried her fingers on a frayed coil falling from his forehead. "What's wrong?"

"It's…" Alucard's fangs hooked on his lips. "So foolish."

"Just tell me," Maria prodded.

She expected many answers out of him. How he hated being only half human. How he worried about causing trouble for his friends. Even something about his mother. His answer was a bit more perplexing than any straight-forward response. "It's Trevor's birthday today."

"Trevor?" Maria raised her eyebrows. "Trevor Belmont?"

Alucard nodded. The slightest bob of his head was enough to wring more tears from him. He drew in another breath, his throat rattling as he tried to bury some painful heartache deep within his chest. It escaped on his sigh. The barbs it had left in his ribs were enough to make him coil.

His aching was enough to wrench Maria's heart. Trevor was not a man she knew. All she learned about him came from Alucard and Richter. Even Richter didn't have much to show for his ancestor, outside of a few family tomes and what little remained in his coffin. Alucard knew Trevor's bones—knew the gouges in them, what had drawn them, which ones had saved his life. More than that, he knew the flesh they could never see, a heart that never beat in their time.

It wasn't easy, trying to mend a broken heart. Still, Maria had to try. "I've got some lavender drying in the cellar. There's some cherry schnapps, too. Maybe we can get Richter to take us to the Belmont family's mausoleum and leave them as a gift."

"Nonsense." Alucard's head sank deeper into his pillow. "He preferred beer."

"Beer, then!" Maria agreed. "Whatever you think he would like."

Doubt creased the soft skin on Alucard's forehead. "It's foolish." His eyes opened, his focus weak. "He can't enjoy them, now."

Maria curled over him. "But, his spirit's watching over you. He'll know your intentions, all the same."

She had meant to comfort him. All her words did was crush him. Alucard forced his eyes closed, his throat aching as a scream tore inside of him, never to emerge. All that came out of him was miserable air, painful tears. Maria shivered as he melted beneath her. He was slipping right through her fingers, drowning in his own despair.

Reaching into tar, Maria grabbed ahold of him. She squeezed him so tightly that she feared wringing the last of the water in his body out of his eyes. Alucard didn't fight her. He could hardly breathe, hardly speak. All the same, the darkest of his demons emerged from the depths of his thoughts.

"I should have stayed with him." His sobs twisted tears from Maria's eyes. "I was so selfish."

What was supposed to come out soft came out like a scolding. "Don't talk like that!"

Alucard shook his head. "All those years, fighting alone. All those wounds. I could have spared him. I could have spared them all."

"No, you couldn't have." Maria's laughter broke. "If he was anything like Richter, then you couldn't have kept him from any fights. Not Trevor, and not any other Belmont."

A pitiful sound echoed from Alucard. It made Maria giggle. Was he trying not to laugh? Was his misery fighting his dawning realization of the truth? He could keep crying, if he wanted to. He could even laugh, if he had the strength for it. Maria didn't back away. It was the truth, and they both knew it.

Maria waded through the river of tears staining Alucard's bed. "Trevor wasn't alone, Alucard. He had his family and friends. He knew where you were. And I know if he asked for you to help him, you would have been right at his side. You promised him that, right?"

"Of course," Alucard nodded.

"You came when the Belmonts needed you the most." Maria rested her head on his chest. It was hot with frustration, his heart palpitating harder than she had ever felt it go. "You are still his friend, Alucard. Even now. And I know if he were here, he'd be so proud of you."

He sniffled, then rested his chin on the top of her head. "Perhaps not at this very moment."

Maria couldn't help but giggle. "Well, I am."

Alucard drew a breath, eager to reflect her kindness with a cold snap. He didn't have the energy in him to do it. He sighed, letting hot air seep over her hair. It soaked up the last of his tears. Cool fingers folded over her shoulders. They kneaded at her back, nervous and restless.

She cuddled deeper into him. "It's rough, isn't it? Not aging like us."

"It can be painful, sometimes," Alucard confessed. "But, it certainly has its benefits."

Maria's smile graced his collarbone. "It'd be nice to be pretty forever."

He nudged the top of her forehead with his cheek. "It also allowed me to meet you."

That was as much of a declaration of affection as Maria needed. She squeezed him, then pulled him up, snuggling into the side of his neck as she cooed. It was all he could do to pat her side. Maria got the point. She let him go, detangling her limbs from his hair. It was always such a mess when they cuddled. They slid out of bed with hair more tangled than the thickest bramble-filled forest.

"Come on! Let's go out." Maria brushed his forehead clear, teasing the tendrils falling into his eyes. "I bet Richter will get a kick out of our plan!"

Alucard folded his legs beneath himself. "Very well. However, I need a few minutes to properly dress myself."

"Alright!" Maria fell back onto her rump. "I can wait."

Both companions stared at each other. It took a moment for Maria to understand Alucard's silent request. She sighed, then slid off of his bed. So, he wanted a little privacy. She didn't get why he was being so coy. It wasn't like they hadn't seen each other in some form of undress before.

Still, she'd violated his privacy enough for one day. She could give him a little bit now.

The door to Alucard's bedroom squeaked as Maria squeezed herself behind it. "Just don't take too long."

He nodded. "I will come out. I promise."

Maria closed the door behind her and melted into a happy puddle. Of course, he would.

He always made good on his promises, no matter how long he took.


	6. Future

It was a beautiful day to die.

Soft, heavy eyes watched men haul logs into a pile. The last rays of sunlight burned them long before the men could set the pyre alight. They moved quickly, fearfully. The night belonged to her beloved, his creatures, their powers. If they caught a single whiff of her funeral pyre, the villagers would burn in a hell hotter than the fire they were building for her.

She wanted to feel something. Fear. Anger. Sorrow. They had left her, kept her in a body numb to the fall wind blowing into her cell. This was her fate. She could not fight it. Not with her family's sword, and not with her bare hands. All she could hope for was that numbness remaining until her last breath.

Another breeze brushed past her face.

So came a tiny, trembling creature. 

The condemned woman opened her hands. Into her palms flew the most fragile bat she had ever held. It was nothing like her loved one's pets. Its wings were soft, smoother than polished leather. Tiny hooks cradled her hands. They squeezed, then fell into mist. She sat up, startled.

Her heart sank as her child fell out of his shed skin.

"Adrian?" she reached out, stroking the boy's face. There was no doubt to who he was. His skin was cool, smooth, tender. His hair was a wild, windswept mess. Worst of all were his eyes. They caught the sunlight, glowing gold and red, bloodshot and stained from tears threatening to fall from him once again.

He leapt into her lap. "Mother!"

She scooped him up, smothered him against her chest. This was the first and last person she ever wanted to see. Her joy, her melancholy child. How long had it been since she had last cradled him? He felt so tall, heavier than she remembered. How could he have grown so much, and she had never noticed?

"You finally learned how to turn into a bat," she laughed into the part in his hair.

Adrian nodded. "It took me a long time."

It was never easy for her child to do magic. There was nothing he couldn't learn to do. It was just his stamina. She wondered if her blood watered his down. Dracula was so patient with him, though. He had faith that Adrian could do anything. So did she.

He squirmed upright, beading eyes catching hers again. "We've got to get you out of here." With one leap, he hopped out of her lap. "I'll go find the keys."

Lisa's heart jolted. She grabbed her son. "No, Adrian!"

"They won't see me," he promised. "We've got to hurry. If you don't escape, you'll die!"

Clever boy. Foolish boy. "And what if I do?"

Adrian stared at her, dumbfounded. That was not a question he'd considered before. He shook his head, flustered. "I'll take you back to the castle."

"We'll be chased," she pointed out.

"We can outrun them!" Adrian tugged on her hands. "Once we get back to the castle, Father will protect you!"

"But, hunters will come for me. What will I do if they hurt your father or you, trying to get to me?" Dread clung to Lisa's thin frame. "I won't ever be able to leave the castle again, Adrian. And, when they find out where I am, the castle will surely be attacked. So many will perish."

Her son shook his head. He was dumbfounded, agitated. "F-Father always keeps us safe. You'll be safe. Won't you?"

She couldn't answer him. They were standing in the proof of Dracula's fallibility. Here she was, locked away in the sun, fire about to rain down upon her, and Dracula could do nothing to prevent it. Adrian knew this. He fought where his father couldn't. But, he was delicate, small, just one against a thousand. If his heart stopped beating, so would hers.

His pulse raced, ragged in her palms. "Mother, please. I can't let them kill you."

Lisa bowed her head. "It's too late, Adrian."

"It's not! It's not!" Her child roared, his cries as fearsome as a wolf's howl. She shivered as she trembled, his nails clenched onto her forearms. "I…I didn't come all this way to…no! Not again!"

Her eyes widened. "Again?"

Adrian's head shot up. Wild fringe fell from his face. Desperation paced in him like a caged lion. Fear set it free. He couldn't keep eye-contact with her and hold his tears back. They burned like the sun, shimmering down his cheeks as his strength finally shattered.

He fell onto his knees. "I've done something terrible, Mother."

She pulled him closer. "Tell me."

"I learned something forbidden. Something I shouldn't have." Adrian rested his arms against her legs. He laid his head against her knees, eyes turned away in shame. "But, it was the only way…"

Lisa's eyebrows pinched down. "What did you learn, Adrian?"

His answer was low, lifeless. "How to travel through time."

Impossible. It had to be impossible. But, his father did the impossible all the time. He lived three times longer than a man ever could. He changed his face like the seasons changed clouds and leaves. They had an impossible child, curious and precocious and so very clever. Impossibly, he was taller. Impossibly, he was frazzled, not as clean as she had left him. Impossibly, he was older.

He told her an impossible truth, and she believed him.

"You traveled through time just to find me?" she asked.

"I got so lost. There were monsters everywhere. In the past. The present. The future." Her child lifted his head, a little life coming back to him. "But, I made it here, Mother! I made it to you!"

The joy in his face brought sorrow to her own. Her little Adrian, so stubborn, so smart. He saw his actions as a remedy first, a problem second. So unlike she did. There had to be a reason her boy cried so hard, begged and pleaded and pulled on her dress. He had seen her future, and it had hurt him.

She could hardly say what she knew. "So, you've already…"

"Yes, Mother," Adrian nodded. "I've seen you die."

Lisa pulled her son off the floor. He curled up, wept into her hair. She smoothed his, tried to ignore the tears finally breaking through her placid mask. It was easy to accept death in the black void inside of herself. To see her child beaten and broken was unbearable.

She laid her cheek against his forehead. "This day was always going to come, Adrian. I was meant to die before you."

"But like this?" he asked. "It doesn't have to be like this!"

"And if it's not?" Lisa tipped his head back. "What will happen to you? Will I have two Adrians, or will you cease to exist?"

Adrian stared at her. "I…I don't know."

Such honesty didn't come easy to him. He was always striving to please her, to know the answer to every question she asked. But, he was still a child. He only thought of what he needed to do, not the repercussions from it. If his mother needed to be saved, he would save her—even if he had to shatter the world to do it.

It was endearing and frightening.

Lisa cupped his head, running her thumbs against his sharp ears. "You know why this magic is forbidden, don't you?"

Adrian scrambled to find an answer to please her. "Because it changes what will happen."

She shook her head. "Because it is selfish."

"Not to save lives!" Adrian argued. "Not to save you!"

"Think, my sweet boy. Think." Lisa stroked her son's temples. They ran fever hot, cooled only by her touch. "Everyone has chosen this path. I came here to heal others. The villagers want to protect their homes. They fear your father, my love. They fear you. So, they made a poor choice. And they…" She dropped her eyes, struggling to face the horrifying truth in Adrian's eyes. "You know what they will choose next. Would you take away our freedom of choice just to save me?"

He didn't think about what she was saying. "Of course."

She froze her son's temper with her cold truth. "Would you be that cruel?"

Adrian went silent. He stared at her, as hurt as if she had slapped him. She sighed, then stroked his back. He didn't know what he was saying. He was just a scared child about to face the worst day of his life all over again. Of course, he was desperate. Heedless of the cost they would all pay.

Wisdom dawned on him with the setting sun. He bowed his head, his sobs slowing. "If…If I went further back…"

"I will always want to save others, Adrian. Just like you. And I will always love your father, no matter what others think of him." She pulled him closer to her heart. "So, this end will always come."

Finality broke Adrian's spirit. His throat cracked with his cries. Lisa held him tighter than she had ever before. He clung back, his grasp almost too strong to bear. She withstood it. If this was the last hug she would ever get from him, she would make sure it was the strongest one she ever gave.

"I hate them," Adrian whispered.

Lisa leaned down. "The villagers?"

Her child nodded. "I hate them all."

"Don't," she ordered. "They don't know what they're doing."

"Of course they do!" Adrian argued. "It's wrong! They've got no right to hurt you!" 

"They don't think that." Lisa sighed, letting her frustration roll out in a new wave of truth. "They think I'm a witch. They are taught that witches are evil and supposed to die. To them, what they are doing is good. They think they are protecting their loved ones, just as you are trying to protect me."

Adrian lifted his head. "If they learned otherwise…" His eyes lit up. "That's it! I'll go back and—"

"How far back would you go?" his mother asked. "The village's foundation? The creation of Christianity? The moment Cain killed Abel?" She shook her head, eyelids sinking. "You would undo the world to stop my death, Adrian. You would destroy lives before they begin. You would kill yourself. Don't you understand how horrible that is?"

He stared at her, dumbfounded and hurt. "What am I supposed to do, then?"

Lisa smiled as she rubbed her son's shoulders. "Forgive them. Love them."

Adrian drooped in her arms. "You ask me to do something impossible."

"Just as impossible as traveling through time," she grinned.

Pointed ears twitched beneath long hair. Adrian sniffled, then wiped his eyes clean on his shirt. Lisa smiled, then helped dab away the last of her son's tears. She felt his skin cool, his pulse settle. Now, with his heart easing, he could hear her over the drumming of his own terror.

"Listen, Adrian," she cooed. "I am a human, just like the villagers. I have my own faults and misunderstandings."

"But, you're so kind," Adrian whispered. "You're nothing like them."

"Deep inside every human, there is potential for kindness. But, they make mistakes. They get hurt, and they get scared. They don't think about what to do. Just how to get out of trouble. Then, they make more mistakes." Her gentle fingers lifted her boy's soft face. "The cycle will never break unless they are healed. Fed. Cleaned and given homes. Then, they will have time to think. With your grace at their side, they will learn kindness—just as you want them to."

Pensive eyes flickered. "I see."

Lisa smiled again. "My boy, you are so intelligent. Clever enough to reverse the Earth itself." She stroked his hair once more, smoothing past his sharp ears. "But, you are kind, too. I want you to practice that kindness, even when it hurts."

"Why?" he asked.

Her sad grin revealed her flaws. "Because I'm selfish, too."

Adrian thought for a moment. He looked down, then back to her. "I don't understand, Mother."

Maybe he didn't need to know how she envied his strength, how she loved seeing herself within him. All that she knew was they were running out of time. There was so much she wanted to teach him. The setting sun shut her down. She clung to her child one more time, trying desperately not to cry. She would have to teach her son her final lesson quickly. No one else could have him but her—especially not the wolves salivating for her roasted flesh.

"I am always in you, Adrian. You are half of me, and all of me. My blood is in your veins, and my heart in your chest." Her smile radiated a warmth that the sun couldn't steal away. "As long as you live, I will live through you."

Adrian reached for her neck. She drew him close, let him nuzzle her. "I won't let you down again, Mother. I promise. I'll do what you want me to do."

"Good boy." She said what she always had to say. "I love you, Adrian."

"I love you, too," he echoed.

Lisa hugged him again, grateful for every last one. "I will always love you."

He nodded. "So will I."

A thwack outside startled them. Lisa peered beyond her bars. The construction of her funeral pyre was done. It wouldn't be long before men would break into her cell and seal her fate. She glanced down at her son. She had to get him out of here. The last thing she would ever let anyone do was harm him.

"You've got to go," she urged.

Adrian nodded. "I'll…I'll be there, at the end."

"I know." She kissed his forehead. "Just be careful, my son."

He looked to the dying light. Love brought him back to her one more time. "Can I do anything else for you?"

Outside of swimming against the stream of time and keeping her company at her last moments? What couldn't he do? Still, he was looking for any last edict—one more thing he could do to make her happy. She saw his form glowing in the sunlight and saw what only the moon could touch. Her beautiful, lovely child was so quick to change. His father, fixed and frozen by denying the inevitable.

"Tell your father what I have told you," Lisa said. "Tell him I will always love you both."

Adrian bowed his head. "I will."

She pushed him onto his legs. He stood, though as frail as a newborn deer. A timid creep had him hanging onto the cell's bar. One last longing gaze fixed on her, as if he was memorizing every last pore in her skin. She gave him a gentle smile. If this was the last he would ever see of her, she would make it a pleasant memory.

"It's alright, Adrian," she assured him.

Her son shook his head. "It's…it's not."

"No. I know." She stood up, then joined him at the window. Her fingers on his back were gentle, forceful. "Live long, Adrian. Love. Do more than I ever could."

It was an easy promise for him to make. "I will."

"Now…" Lisa pulled her son off the ground. "Fly!"

Smoke lifted from her palms. Her child flittered away, back to the future he had abandoned, his tears glittering like stars in the oncoming night. She watched him dance through the sky. How graceful he was, even in such a strange body! She could watch him fly forever. He was meant for the night sky, just as he was meant for the bright earth—at home everywhere he went.

Her last day fell dark.

But, his future would be radiant.


End file.
